When Penelope entered her bedchamber, she immediately looked for Beckett.

He sat in an armchair by the fireplace wearing only his muslin shirt, unbuttoned to his navel, and trousers. He looked natural like that—freer, less restricted. Dress coats weren't made for men like him; they only hid the rugged beauty beneath the fabric.

Beckett slowly turned his head to face her, and Penelope's breath hitched.

He was here. A part of her had been worried he wouldn't be. That he might have regretted his promise for tonight. He tended to backpedal on her, and she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd walked away and come to his senses.

But then again...he had kissed her. Asked to kiss her. It felt different tonight. Maybe it was because of her vulnerabilities, that he'd caught her soaking in them.

Penelope did not particularly like that.

She hated admitting that her husband's affair bothered her, even after so many years. She tried to act as though it did not matter, but it was often challenging. Everyone was always so quick to get rid of her. She was barely seventeen when her parents insisted she come out into society and find a man—a rich, titled man—to marry. She was only eighteen when Leo could not take her hand. She was only nineteen when Hutton accepted it...only to leave her not but a year later.

But years later, here Beckett was. He sat there, looking like he had all the time in the world.

She knew he did not. She knew that he would likely leave her too, but for tonight she saw in his eyes that he wanted to stay.

The intent could not be more apparent on his face; it was the look of a man who wasn't about to hold back, and Penelope had never been more ready. She took one step toward him and closed the door behind her.

"You took longer than I expected," he said, crossing his legs leisurely. She noted the slight worry in his expression. Had he thought she wouldn't come?

"It took me some time to find Mrs. Fraser."

Beckett mumbled beneath his breath. "Bloody mansion of a house."

"Usually, I have no concerns navigating my home," Penelope said hotly, resting her hand on her hip. "But she was in the kitchens and is not usually there at this time of night."

"I see." Beckett's hand rested on the end of the armrest on his chair, and his fingers drummed idly. Penelope watched them for a moment, entranced, before his voice pulled her back in. "I only contemplated going to look for you once. Perhaps twice."

"I thought you were going to give me a moment?" she asked with an arched brow.

"I did." Beckett's fingers stopped drumming. "Moment's up, darling."

Penelope's stomach flipped like it always did when he used terms of endearment. She knew she mustn't let it go to her head, or more concerning, her heart, but it was challenging. How he said it was so...perfect.

"And now what?" Her voice was breathy.

"That's a good question." Beckett raised his hand, rubbing his jaw. He regarded her curiously with blazing hot eyes. "What now, Lady Hutton?"

Her eyes raked over him, from his broad shoulders to the wisps of hair springing through his shirt. His chest was tanned, and she longed to run her fingers over it.

Soon. Soon she would.

"Unlace my dress."

He moved with surprising grace as he stood from the chair and crossed the room. There was greediness in Beckett's expression as he looked her up and down, sending chills down Penelope's spine. As he moved around her, he trailed a finger along the seam of her dress until he reached her laces.

Penelope felt his breath hit the back of her neck and sucked in, waiting to see what he would do. She jerked back as Beckett began his descent, tugging on the laces of her dress. After a few moments of silence and Penelope's tiny gasps, Beckett spoke.

"I am enjoying this much more than when you asked me to lace you up." He bent down to press a kiss on her shoulder. "Undressing is far better than dressing."

Penelope laughed lightly, ignoring how her skin tingled against his lips. "I remember thinking that you were quite adept at lacing stays."

"I am," Beckett agreed. "But if I am honest, I prefer ripping them."

A thrill ran through Penelope. Beckett was right earlier; she had only been with gentlemen. She had been with gentlemen who handled her as though she were fragile. Gentlemen who did not care much about her pleasure. Gentlemen who doused the candles for modesty and undressed her with the utmost care.

It was nothing like the rough need that lingered between Penelope and Beckett. He unlaced her dress as though he was desperate to get beneath it, and her heart pounded with a similar feeling.

Beckett's fingers returned to her shoulders, sliding beneath her dress on either side and brushing it down, letting the fabric fall from her body.

When it pooled at her feet, Penelope stepped out of the dress. In only her corset and thin chemise, she let Beckett lead her back to the armchair by the fire. He sat first and then brought Penelope onto his lap, sitting her so that she faced him. Straddled him.

"What are you doing?" she asked through heavy breaths.

"I have been picturing you like this every night since we met," he admitted. He leaned forward, brushing his lips over the top of Penelope's décolletage. "That day when you were in your stays and nothing else."

"But my dresses are so much prettier," Penelope argued, biting down on a whimper.

"They cover more of you," Beckett grumbled against her skin.

She felt his tongue now. It dipped between her breasts, running down the seam of them. Her hands flew to his shoulders, bracing herself as he tasted her. Only once he had thoroughly explored her did he lift his head. His gaze was hungry.

"You will not get a gentleman tonight if I stay," he warned. "Do you want me to stay?"

Beckett watched her intently, looking for any signs that she did not wish for this. But no consideration was needed. "Stay, Beckett."

Fierce possession sprang into his eyes as they wandered over her. "Thank fucking God," he muttered. 

"That is what you want, too?" She tried to say it in a sultry way, but emotion leaked into her voice.

His stare was hard and unyielding when he answered. "Yes, Penelope. Yes a million times over."

Without any further warning, Beckett hastily undid her stays before tossing them to the floor. And then all that was between Penelope and Beckett's mouth, his touch, was the gauzy fabric of her chemise.

He wasted no time cupping her breasts, brushing his fingers over her nipples through the chemise. The sensation drove Penelope wild. She felt her muscles turning soft, and Beckett seemed to sense it. One of his hands fell to her waist, holding her in a steadying grip as he leaned down again to suck one nipple into his mouth.

His tongue played with her, even though the thin fabric remained between them, and Penelope felt the need to clamp her thighs together. She needed something to dull the ache between them. But she still straddled Beckett's legs, and he was intent on keeping them apart.

"I need to see you." His voice was so husky and deep that Penelope became lost and hardly noticed when Beckett grabbed the top of her chemise. She certainly noticed, however, when he ripped it open and trailed his mouth over the suddenly available expanse of skin. "Not a gentleman," he reminded before peering up at her.

"I am glad for it," Penelope gasped while writhing on his lap.

Beckett's lips kicked up with a devilish smirk before he latched his mouth onto her breast again. He sucked and flicked his tongue over her sensitive skin, and Penelope groaned loudly, unable to contain it anymore. He palmed her breasts, squeezing as he feasted on them, making her shudder repeatedly.

"Gorgeous," Beckett whispered once he pulled back. He used his thumbs to gently tease her peaked nipples. "So gorgeous, Penelope."

"Beckett." She knew she was whining, but she did not care. The pulse between her legs was unbearable. And every time she tried to clench her legs together, Beckett opened his wider, spreading her out on his lap.

"You need to be patient, darling. I've wanted you for too long."

"How long?" Penelope had to ask.

"Since the beginning," he rasped. "And then everything made it worse...the pond, the bath, the dance, the horse."

"The horse was your idea," she reminded him.

She expected him to argue back, but to her surprise, he didn't. "Needed to be close to you," he grunted.

And then he returned to sucking gently on her nipple, his tongue swirling around it. Penelope tried to buck her hips in response, absolutely desperate from all his mouth's taunting.

"So responsive," he chuckled.

A mewled whine escaped Penelope. "I cannot help it."

"Don't." Beckett's voice was gruff and demanding. "Don't ever stop making those sounds, Penelope."

She smirked slightly. "Don't ever stop giving me a reason to."

A growl rose from Beckett's throat. "Oh, I do not plan to. Not tonight, anyway."

Something hidden deep within her crumbled at those words.

Not tonight.

They had tonight, and perhaps that was all, before Beckett pulled away again. Or worse, left the grounds to return to London.

Penelope would make tonight count.